


Save Yourself

by dentigerous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brainwashing, F/M, Gen, Hints of Howard/Steve, Hydra, M/M, post-Avengers Assemble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentigerous/pseuds/dentigerous
Summary: Steve Rogers was brainwashed by Hydra during the war, but the programming went deep into psyche, ready to be activated. When the Tesseract flashed during the Battle for New York, the latent programming was reignited, and Steve disappeared. A week later, Tony Stark watched as Steve marched on New York with an army at his back.(( A fic for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang, with art by Petite-Madame. ))





	1. PROLOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang. I'm thrilled to say my collaborator's art inspired me immediately. If you don't know Petite-Madame's art by now, you're missing out. [Give her all the love here.](http://petite-madame.tumblr.com/)
> 
> A special shout out to my encouragement team [Agent Coop](http://petite-madame.tumblr.com/) whose fics you should go read right now, and [ MultiFandomFics ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandomfics) who was a fantastic cheerleader and beta.
> 
> P.S. Happy 100th Birthday Steve Rogers. He'd want you to donate to [RAICES Texas, to end family separation at the border, and pay for lawyers so that families can be reunified](https://www.raicestexas.org/coll-page-section/donate/) so go do that.

“

 

Bring her out.”

The order echoed over the walkie-talkies and short-wave radios spread across a fleet of boats, surveillance helicopters, and a large-scale ice excavation team. This portion of the arctic circle was usually deserted except for the lone north sea fisherman, hoping to get lucky. However, the past two weeks the entire area had been a hive of activity. There were no less than eight ships patrolling the stretch of sea as a group of scientists, geologists, and archaeologists worked to excavate a giant aircraft from the icy grip of the frozen tundra.

Slowly, a large portion of the snow-pack that covered the hull of the vehicle was pried up and then airlifted a safe distance away. There was another small, controlled explosion, and a flurry of snow drifted upwards as another shelf was secured with cables and flown off.

When a large portion of the coast disengaged from the glacial borders of Greenland, SHIELD picked up a frequency reading that had been dormant for years. It took less than two weeks to assemble a field crew and put enough boots on the ground to pull out the wreckage of the _Valkyrie_.

Nick Fury was on-sight almost immediately. He repelled down into the snow-filled HYDRA plane, looking around. There had been no record of an aircraft this size making the flight towards America, and he suspected that there was a weapon on board that would have made secrecy more important than record keeping. He walked towards the front of the plane, moving slowly, looking for a manifest or even a map. As he reached the front of the cockpit, he paused, looked over the figure encased in ice, and then glanced back at the agent who had followed him down into the plane.

“Well fuck me,” he sighed, turning back and stomping past the agent. “Can’t ever be easy.”

What followed afterwards is hard to explain.

The man in the _Valkyrie_ was alive. Born in 1919, frozen over in 1945, Steve Rogers was cut away from the cockpit of the plane and transported to New York. Whatever weapon he had been transporting wasn’t with him when he had been put into an accidental cryogenic sleep.

Nick Fury knew what Howard Stark had found in the ocean when he went trawling for Steve Rogers. It didn’t occur to him that he should keep the two away from each other. The Tesseract had laid dormant for years, locked safely in a SHIELD vault, protected by the best tech Fury could get his hands on.

What Fury didn’t know would haunt him for years.

When Steve Rogers woke up it wasn’t from an easy sleep. He started, jolted upright immediately, and scrambled backwards on the bed, wide-eyed and sweating. The young woman across from him smiled beatifically, unfazed by a traumatized GI in a recovery room.

It’s not an easy thing to come back to life.

Rogers had driven the _Valkyrie_ into the water with every intent of never breathing again after he’d breached the Arctic Ocean. He’d made his peace, said his goodbyes, lost everyone, let them go.


	2. ONE

Brooklyn welcomed Steve Rogers like a well loved book. It was just as he remembered it, but still managed to surprise him. He found a small apartment near a gym and practically lived there. Something about being frozen for more than half a century left him feeling anxious and nervous. 

There was kindness in the worn edges of the streets and sidewalks. Steve haunted Brooklyn, and the neighborhood returned the favor. He walked the same streets and saw different faces, different stores and new reflections. He took to wandering the blocks at night, straying into Queens some nights, awake at all hours, a ceaseless heart. 

It was easy to blend in. Captain America was an icon, a cowled youth with a charming grin and a directive to go to war. Steve Rogers wasn’t that anymore. He was a little taller in real life, a little more clean cut, and he took comfort in the rituals of self-care and grooming. At least he could feel like he was human again. He wasn’t rolling around in ditches or dragging men through trees. It took nothing to neaten his hair, press his clothes, and when he buttoned up his shirt, his hands shook gently, barely creasing the clothing. 

The days were a blur. How had nothing changed?

Nick Fury stopped by, on occasion. These were only now and then, but Rogers knew better than to assume that Fury was leaving him alone. He could still spot the men following him, he could hear the buzz of electronics in his home. Whatever alone was, Steve Rogers wasn’t. Lonely, maybe. But alone was hard to be in Brooklyn.

Fury found him in his boxing gym. Rogers would call it ‘his’ but the brochure slipped under his door was obviously placed. The manager was two years from retirement and had a story about how his old man served with Captain America during the war, and was more than happy to give Rogers the entire gym for hours at a time. It hadn’t been a month before he had been given a key and told to lock up when he left. It became Steve’s home away from the buzzing noises of his apartment. 

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Rogers punched at the heavy bag as Fury talked, a drone, a buzz, a nothing-world where Fury spoke about the past as if it hadn’t been yesterday. He didn’t turn away, didn’t look at him. 

“I’ve got something for you.”

“I’m retired.”

Fury barked out a short laugh, but it sounded forced, even to Rogers. He glanced over at Fury, who was holding a file, rifling through it. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to collect your pension anytime soon, Captain.”

Something changes, a charge rocked the air, and Rogers surged forward, turning with his whole body, punching the bag so hard that it splits and flies off the metal hook, the reinforced canvas strap that held it up frayed to nothing. 

Fury whistled. 

“Not proving your case here, Rogers.”

“What do you want?” Rogers snapped, already pacing forward to pick up the broken bag, laying it neatly in a pile of exercise equipment that met the same fate. Fury eyed the stack, perhaps weighing the risk of continuing the conversation with Rogers. 

“You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important,” Fury said, watching Rogers carefully.

Rogers glanced over at Fury and shook his head, picking up another back and hooking it to the metal chain that was still slowly revolving from the impact of the last bag. “I think important is a relative term with you.”

“Do you recognize this?” 

Rogers looked over at Fury and then down at the photo he held out. A cube, blue, sparkling, shimmering, lightning in a bottle. It was familiar, something bright and nothing...a darkness. Rogers pressed his mouth and looked up at Fury, glaring at him. 

“I want nothing to do with this.”

“This artefact has been in our possession for nearly fifty years-”

“I don’t care.” Rogers’ voice was firm and cold. Fury watched him carefully and then nodded, putting the photo back into the file. 

“You’ve seen it before.”

“You know I have,” Rogers answered, turning back to his punching bag and starting the same brutal pace. “I tried to bury it.” 

The weight that settled over them was choking. Rogers pounded the bag, eyes down on his hands, stance set, and Fury watched. Whatever kind of man Rogers had been when he drove the Valkyrie into the water had died then. Above the ring, a light flickered and went out. Fury sighed. 

“It’s been stolen.”

Rogers hesitated, frowning. He lowered his hands slowly, standing up to his full height, looking down at Fury, hands on his hips. Rogers nodded and then took a deep breath, steeling himself. 

“Who.”

“Guy named Loki. We’ll need to catch you up. There’s a debrief in your apartment”

Rogers stared at Fury for another few seconds. When Fury handed him the folder, he took it grudgingly and put it under his arm. He turned to the bag and lifted it with his free hand, hoisting it over his shoulder as if it were a large pillow. 

Fury continued, talking to Rogers’ back as he walked towards the equipment room. “Can you tell us anything about the this thing?”

Rogers paused, frowning. He looked over his shoulder at Fury, and there was something dark and angry in his eyes, a look of reproach and hurt. He shook his head, looking away from Fury again. 

“It should have died with me.”

* * *

“How’s capsicle doing anyway? Recovering from frostbite? Still has all his fingers and toes?” Stark asked, walking around the boardroom, looking anywhere but at Nick Fury.

Fury raised his eyebrows, pointed at him. “You’re not funny, Stark.” 

“No? Guess I should cross comedian off the list of careers to try when I finally move out of my dad’s basement.”

Fury watched with almost no expression on his face as Tony Stark walked around the conference room three times, inspecting the windows, looking over the documents on the table, frowning at the pinboard that some other Agents of SHIELD had set up. Stark pointed at a newspaper clipping and looked back to Fury. 

“Speaking of my dad.”

“Howard Stark discovered the Tesseract when he was trawling the Arctic Ocean for Captain Rogers. He spent five years trying to find the Valkyrie.”

“And you guys just happen to brush it off during a coring mission in Greenland?” Stark rolled his eyes, looking back at the board, frowning as he took all the information in. 

Fury make a noise, dismissive. “I don’t like your tone.”

 

“And I don’t like the fact that you seem to have misplaced a nuclear warhead,” Stark retorted, glancing over at him. 

“If it were just a bit of plutonium I wouldn’t bother calling your ass in, Stark. I got more than my fair share of agents who can-”

“Yeah, yeah, gumdrop, take a load off.” Stark interrupted, now examining photos of Loki and his last known whereabouts. “So this guy just shows up and...poofs? He just flashes in and out?”

“He’s got a base. But we’re pretty sure he’s going to show up in New York very soon.”

“How sure? How do you know? You got some kind of Crazy-Radar that alerts you when special people start showing up?” Stark waved a hand over the pinboard, and his watch began to hum, analyzing the photos, maps, links, and notes that were posted up.

“We’ve got his brother helping out.”

Stark turned, confused. “Baywatch? That man doesn’t know how to work a cell phone and you think he’s going to help us catch his criminal mastermind sibling--”

Javis interrupted,“Download Complete.” 

“Great, display.” Stark ordered, taking off his watch and putting it on the table, looking over the points as they popped up in a shimmery blue-white projection. 

“I’m glad you’re having a good time with my research.” Fury’s tone was that of a man utterly unsurprised, but annoyed about it.

“You lost a Stark family heirloom, I think I get to have some fun with your photo album,” Stark muttered, lining up the team that Fury had proposed. Thor, Hulk, Black Widow, Iron Man, Captain America. “You think about getting more chicks on the team?”

“My best agent happens to be dealing with bigger shit right now,” Fury said, crossing his arms. 

“She sounds hot.”

Fury raised his eyebrows. “She’s out of your league.” 

“You say that,” Stark murmured, looking over the maps, “but she hasn’t met me yet.”

Fury didn’t respond, letting Stark memorize the information, knowing that Stark was already thinking three steps ahead of Loki, or trying. After a few minutes, Fury shifted and Stark made a shushing noise. 

“Quiet in the library, Daddy’s reading.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Fury stood up, already checking his phone. Stark looked over at him and nodded.

“You have my number.” “I need to warn you,” Fury looked up, eyebrows raised. “I can’t tell how much is Steve Rogers and how much is the shell of a soldier. He’s dealing with a lot of the same shit you are, and a few more helpings of trauma piled on top.”

Stark looked away. He put his fingers on the table to keep his hands from shaking. He turned his head, shrugging. “Time travel will do that to you.” 

“Keep an eye on him, alright. I’d hate to lose a national treasure to this asshole,” Fury said, gesturing to Loki’s picture. 

“Yeah, that wouldn’t look great would it?”

Fury sidestepped Stark, walking past him, towards the door. “Have a good night, Stark.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

* * *

“You can’t possibly think that the Tesseract is going to be safe with Thunderstruck here, do you?” Stark paced back and forth in the lab, the Infinity Stone safely inert in Loki’s staff. He glared at Thor and then at Fury. 

“It should have never come here,” Rogers said flatly, sitting down at the desk, not looking at the glowing blue cube. 

“Well it did, and we should take advantage of that-”

“Maybe you missed the part of this where a god transported into our world and took down an entire base?” Romanoff said cooly, watching Stark without emotion. “It’s dangerous, and the further away from Earth it is, the better off we’ll be.”

Stark made a face, shaking his head. “Weapons are only dangerous when they’re pointed the wrong way, Agent. Or are you afraid of a little competition?”

“I’m afraid of your ego,” she snapped, eyebrows up. 

Rogers stood up suddenly, “We can’t keep it here.” He crossed the distance in between himself and Stark in a second.He looked down at him, frowning. “It’s not yours, and you can’t stop us.”

Stark’s eyes widened and he took a step back without meaning to. He put out a hand, and from across the room, a piece of metal flew over and arranged itself into a glove around his hand and forearm. The room tensed, but neither man moved. 

“You sure about that, Boy Scout?”

“You aren’t nearly as intimidating as you think you are.” Rogers hissed, eyes narrowing. He glanced over at Fury and gestured. “Get this deathtrap off Manhattan. Nothing good can come of it.”

“Now, listen, you don’t know that!” Stark protested, stepping up to Rogers again. “Just because you’re afraid of it--”

“So what if I am?” Rogers raised his voice, and Stark set his jaw. “What difference does that make, huh? So what if I’m afraid of that thing. I have good reason and anything you’ve got to say will undo the damage that’s already been done because of it.” 

“I can use this to create-”

“I don’t care,” Rogers shouted, stepping forward again. 

The room was silent for a few seconds, and then there was a strange buzzing sound, a whirring, and more pieces of metal seemed to pry themselves from the walls and floor, attaching to Stark and creating a suit. Rogers looked at him as if he were something he had stepped in.

“Who’s afraid now?”

“That’s it-” Stark’s arm raised, but before either of them could make a move, Romanoff was in between them, hands up on their chests. The tension in the room caused Banner to leave. 

“Whoa, whoa, boys,” Romanoff spoke quietly, clearly, looking between them. “Not the time, alright?”

Rogers turned away first, slinging his shield over his shoulder. The noise it made as it attached to the harness rang throughout the room. He stopped by Fury’s chair as the doors of the lab slid open. “Take it away from him before he kills the rest of us.”

* * *

Steve Rogers saw the sky split like a mountain range and closed his eyes as nightmares fell like snow. 

The monsters came, but they weren’t ready for the strength of a world with everything to lose. 


	3. TWO

Tony Stark flew into the rift and decided he would rather die before he lived to see the world destroyed. He didn’t realize that Steve Rogers had made the same choice nearly sixty years ago. He gasped, his suit stuttered, and the explosion he set off pushed him slowly back through the tear in the world, and gravity took hold. 

Stark plummeted and was caught in mid-air, seconds before crashing to the street. His suit was steaming, and he didn’t respond to the attempts to wake him. Once his faceplate was off and the weight taken off his chest, he gasped and looked around, eyes wide. His heart rate shot up, and his eyes flicked over each of the Avengers as they crowded around. 

“Where’s Cap?”

* * *

As soon as the blue light flared in the sky, something like a beacon set itself off in Rogers’ brain. He stumbled back from the fight, leaving Thor on the battlefield. He found a side street that was deserted, more or less except for some stray bodies. He sunk down, head in his hands, dark blood pooling at his feet. The blue light, the Tesseract, something in him had been reawoken, remade, and he couldn’t fight it. 

Rogers began to breathe harder, pushing back the hood of his uniform. He closed his eyes, and dark storms rose up to meet him.

He was alone. He wasn’t alone. He was in Zola’s lab. Something changed. He was in Zola’s lab. He was in a different lab, Zola was still there. He lost time. He lost so much time. 

When he stood up, there was something different about the set of his shoulder, the look in his eyes was furtive and hurt. He glanced at the fighting, looked up at the blue rift that the world’s ambition had made, and he started to run, away from Manhattan.

* * *

“You _lost_ him?”

Stark, arm in a sling, parts of his eyebrows singed off, glanced around the table, confused. They were down Thor and Rogers, and Banner had decided to take some time, and Stark didn’t much appreciate being the only one without an alternative agenda in the room. He gestured, eyebrows up, looking at Romanoff, then Barton, before glaring at Fury.

“Seriously guys? He’s a walking American flag. He farts and Yankee Doodle plays out his ass.”

“We were a little busy,” Romanoff pointed out, arms crossed. In fairness to the SHIELD agents, none of them looked particularly happy. 

“We’re on it.” Fury’s voice had an air of finality to it. He stood and nodded at Romanoff, who immediately got up to follow him. 

“Is that it? That’s the line, just, _we’re on it_?”

Fury didn’t look back as the door opened, “Yup.”

Romanoff shrugged, glanced at Barton, who had remained firmly in his seat. She looked back to Stark. “We’ll text you.”

“You can text me, sweetheart. Tell Fury to lose my number.”

Romanoff shook her head and walked out. The doors slid shut behind her, and Stark was the only one left standing in the boardroom. It was two big for just him and Barton, but Stark still felt suffocated. He took a deep breath and turned away from Barton, looking back to the large blue digital screen he had put on on the wall. 

Barton stood, walking around to stand next to Stark. He tilted his head to the side, looking over the map of Manhattan that Stark had put up. 

“I caught a glimpse of him. Just before he disappeared.”

Stark’s head snapped over. “What?”

Barton took a step forward, pointing at the map. “Here. Looked like he had been struck by lightning. And not the friendly fire kind of struck.”

Stark took a deep breath, frowning. He nodded once, looking over the map. With another gesture, he expanded the section and placed a finger where Barton had indicated he had seen Rogers.

“Then what?” 

“Well then I was distracted by the big explosion in the sky.” Barton pretended to ignore the glare that Stark gave him. Glancing over at Stark, Barton shook his head and then pointed west, towards the Hudson River. “I didn’t see it, but this is the only place he could have gone without attracting notice.”

“You telling me our Brooklyn boy went to Jersey?”

Barton shrugged again. “Looks it.”

Stark took another step back, arms crossed, frowning. It still didn’t make sense to him. Why would Steve run away in the middle of fight? What would make him abandon his friends?

“What did he look like?”

“A very bright action figure,” Barton said brightly. This time he glanced over and saw the death stare that Stark was shooting his way. He sighed and shook his head. “He was crouching down, I couldn’t tell what he looked like.” 

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Stark nodded, taking a step back and taking the map along with him. He began walking for the door, already giving orders to JARVIS. “I’m going to look for him.”

Barton jogged to keep up. “I’ll come with you.”

“Are you under orders to babysit me?” Stark said, annoyed. “I’ll admit, birdboy, I don’t know if you can keep up with me.”

“What? Like your path of destruction is going to be subtle?” Barton chuckled as they got into an elevator, heading down to the garage. “You’d find an evil robot to fight to fight before you crossed the river. Even if I took the metro I’d get to Astoria before you finished your press conference reassuring the public there are no more evil robots.”

“Evil robots don’t just happen, alright?” Stark grumbled, frowning. 

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Barton rocked on his heels, humming off key. He glanced over at Stark and then looked up, hands in front of him. “So you’re driving?”

“Shut up.”

* * *

When Steve Rogers woke up, he lost time again. He blinked once, twice, and tried to move his arms. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he was being restrained. There was a brief thought to break through, but just as suddenly, it was replaced by the image of lying still, and Rogers chose that instead. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, struggling to remember what had happened, where he was. 

There was the fight. There was blood. There were trenches…

That wasn’t right. Rogers took a deep breath, ignored the itch at the back of his neck and tried again. 

There was a war. There was blood. There was snow falling…

Not right again. This time Rogers tried to sit up before remembering the restraights. The straps across his chest and along his arms dug into him, even through his uniform. He grit his teeth and pulled harder, but they wouldn’t budge, reinforced with some kind of mesh that wasn’t allowing any give at all. 

A bright light shone down on him, blue and white, on and off. It was hypnotic, and it lulled him into a strange harbor, a sense of having been here and not being here. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, watching the lights flash on and off, a pause. On, off, pause. There was a familiarity here, a strange sense of falling off the last step of the stairs. He took slow, long, deep breaths. 

In another room, watching Rogers through a pane of glass, stood three scientists. They looked more like security guards than HYDRA operatives, with dark clothing and yellow pins for badges. The door opened behind them, and a man in an expensive suit walked in, watching the procedure carefully. 

“The reprogramming is taking?” 

“Yes, sir. He’s compliant.” 

The suit looked down at the copies he had in his hands of Zola’s notes, written clearly in German and English. He nodded, looking back up at Rogers, who was limp under the light. 

“Good. Keep him under for six hours, and then let me know.”

“You’ll go in to talk to him, Mister Pierce?”

Pierce was staring at Rogers. He smirked and nodded, tilting his head up. “He’ll be ready. We’ll continue Zola’s good work.”

The tech nodded, and turned a dial in front of him. The lights began to flash faster. 


	4. THREE

It had been a week. Even after scouring the security feeds littered throughout Manhattan, there was no sign of Rogers. He had disappeared, as if he had sunk back into the ocean. Stark was furious. He had sent out nearly an army of drones to search the five boroughs and the nearest New Jersey towns, and there wasn’t a trace of him anywhere. 

If Stark had thought to ask Fury for help, the agent would have told him that it didn’t look like coincidence, but the work of a professional covering their tracks. As it were, Stark continued to push through code and upgrades, ignorant of the possibility that Rogers hadn’t just run away, but had been taken. 

In the early hours of the morning, the day after the UN congregated in lower Manhattan to discuss the new kinds of threats facing the world, Stark was jolted out of his mechanical reverie by JARVIS.

“New message sir.” The voice startled him enough that he sat up quickly, knocking his head against a sharp piece of metal. 

“I told you not to interrupt me,” Stark grumbled as he slid out from under the suit, putting his fingers to the small cut above his eyebrow.

Across the room, the viewport whirred, showing a blue map of Manhattan, with glowing red and yellow points on it. “It’s important, sir.” 

“Yeah? Rate it. One being a tidal wave about to destroy Chelsea and ten’s another alien invasion.”

JARVIS thought for a second as Stark walked over to the map. “This is a solid seven, sir.”

The map showed the UN Council building along the west side of Manhattan, glowing a bright yellow. Across the island was a large number of red dots. Stark frowned, pulling up security feeds to see what exactly JARVIS was displaying. 

“Incoming call from Director Nick Fury.”

Stark swallowed, looking away from the feeds and gesturing. “Put him through.”

“Stark?” Fury’s voice came through, sharp and clear. “I need you topside, you’re going to want to see this.”

Taking a deep breath, Stark nodded. “I’m on my way.”

He turned away from the feed and started quickly putting the spare pieces back on the suit. Behind him, the security footage showed Steve Rogers at the head of an army, marching on New York City. 

* * *

In the UN Building, three floors below the lowest-official basement level, Nick Fury stood in front of three blue holograms of the World Security Council. In-person next to him was Alexander Pierce, arms crossed, frowning as they all watched the footage of the confrontation happening on the east side of Manhattan. 

“Can’t we send SHIELD out to help him?” Pierce asked, frowning. 

“We’ve got a few units responding,” Fury said. He gestured and another piece of information floated up, showing orders for both Barton and Romanoff to assemble a team of agents. 

“What about the Avengers Initiative?” one of the Councilmembers asked in a clipped accent. 

Fury gestured. “This is national guard level. I’m not about to ask a Hulk to charge into Hell’s Kitchen when we’re already facing billions in damage.”

Pierce made a noise, glaring at Fury. “ _A_ Hulk?”

“Watch the feeds, Council,” Fury said, ignoring Pierce’s question. On screen, Iron Man shot out of Stark Tower, hovering over the skyline for barely a second before making a line across town towards Steve Rogers. “Let’s see how this tracks out.”

* * *

Iron Man flew across the city, dropping down onto the road directly in front of Steve Rogers and his black-flag army outfitted in tac-gear sporting red circles on their backs and chests. 

“Careful,” Stark said, pointing at his new, darker uniform. “People will think that’s a target.”

“Get out of the way.” 

Stark had never heard Rogers’ voice so cold and sharp, so devoid of emotion. If ever there were a soldier just following orders, this is what he would sound like. It struck Stark that he had never actually seen Rogers follow an order before. 

“Yeah, no, I can’t do that,” Stark said, settling into a stance, hovering up a few feet, elbows cocked back, palms up. “See there’s a lot of people behind me, and I really don’t think-”

Rogers’ arm snapped up. The shield hit Stark squarely in the chest, knocking him back in the air a few feet. 

“Wow, okay, that’s a really aggressive handshake, Cap.”

Rogers didn’t miss a beat, catching the shield as it snapped back to him, and running forward. He jumped up as Stark was recovering from the blow, and brought it down on Stark again. 

“Forward!” 

Even with the suit’s augmented reactions and strength, it took every bit of concentration that Stark had to keep the sharp edge of the shield from digging into the seams of his armor. Rogers was brilliantly fast and strong, and there was a new ruthless determination that set his jaw into a cruel line. 

“What are you doing, Rogers!?” Stark yelled as he pushed him back, getting some space between them. Stark glanced around, looking at the policemen who were trying to set up barriers. The SWAT teams that had assembled and responded fast. JARVIS had informed him a few minutes ago that SHIELD was trying to set up a perimeter around the UN, but the public and the security of individual members of the council were making it difficult to establish any kind of secure line. 

Rogers picked himself up, sliding the shield back onto his arm. Stark got a good look at the many-armed skull on his arm, the way his uniform not only looked darker but was actually dyed different colors, had different teflon pads covering him. Rogers tilted his head up, and the two of them stared at each from the middle of the street. 

“I’m taking over.”

“You know I’m going to have to stop you, Boy Scout.”

“You can try.” Roger’s voice carried, but even the warning wasn’t enough to give Stark time to retaliate as Rogers came in close and back handed him across the face. 

* * *

Deep in an underground base off the Jersey coast, Romanoff and Barton were slowly fighting their way to the control center. 

Barton glanced over at Romanoff, breathing hard. “Race you to the stairs?”

Romanoff tilted her head, turning away.

“What? That was funny!” He stepped over a stunned man, following the secret agent through the base. She wasn’t slow, but she was methodical. She opened doors, scanned the area, and Barton could almost hear the mental notes she was making in her head as she continued to the next room. 

“Maybe next time ask for a partner with a sense of humor,” Romanoff responded, opening another door. She turned the light on and froze, an expression crossing her face that was both unfamiliar and deeply unsettling. 

Barton frowned, walking forward, looking over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He saw the room in front of him. Dark, with a large chair hooked up to machinery that seemed advanced and outdated at the same time. There were strange, unlit lights hanging down, and mirrors on three walls. Barton looked at Romanoff again as she walked in slowly, her face stony once more. 

“Nat, what is this stuff?”

“Training equipment.”

Barton paused, watching as Romanoff went over to the machines, carefully looking over each inch. She reached up to turn on the lights that were hanging over the chair, and they began to flash in an indecipherable pattern. She went absolutely still, and a second later, the flashing lights broke apart, an arrow quivering in the chair. 

Looking at Barton, eyes wide, she swallowed and took a deep breath. 

“Programming. Hydra. This is World War level tech.”

Barton looked over the chair, frowning deeply. “Rogers was captured during the war?”

“Rogers was _programmed_ during the war,” Romanoff replied, taking a step back and turning quickly. She jogged out of the room and Barton followed. 

The next level of the base left casualties. Barton didn’t say anything. 


	5. FINAL

 

 

“Get him out of there Stark!” Fury yelled into the comm, his voice echoing in Stark’s helmet.

“Does it look like I’m playing patty cake with him?” Stark asked, flying up a few stories and letting another barrage loose. For a man with such large shoulders Steve Rogers could become very compact.

“I want him off Manhattan. Now.”

Stark dropped behind Rogers before he had a chance to throw his overdeveloped frisbee again, grabbing onto the straps around his shoulders. Stark knew that he didn’t have long before Rogers figured out how to break his hold, and he shot into the air quickly.

Rogers twisted, and Stark realized that the dangling soldier didn’t quite care whether he was dropped or not.

“What are you made of, Rogers?”

Rogers bared his teeth and twisted. Stark’s propulsion was turned off balance, and he ran into a building on his way across the East River. Stark cursed, and diverted more energy to his blasters. It took a total of twenty seconds for him to get Rogers away from the Hydra army writ large and drop him into Prospect Park.

Fury’s voice popped back up with a small rush of static, “Now was that so hard?”

“Fury, I swear to god-”

Rogers wasted no time, throwing his shield up and clipping Stark under his chin, turning him over into a tailspin. He turned over a few times, got his balance, and the shield hit him a second time, knocking him into an old building on the edge of the park.

Stark recovered quickly, flying after Rogers, who was running west, obviously trying to get back into Manhattan.

Dropping in front of Rogers, Stark held both hands up, and they glowed a bright blue as Rogers halted, breathing hard, shield up.

“Alright, listen,” Stark said, speaking slowly.

“Get out of my way, Stark.”

“Can’t do that, Cap.” Stark lifted one hand, tapped a quick code, and the panels in his helmet slid back. He was cut a little bruised, and his hair was sticking up. He looked human.

“I’ll make you,” Rogers took another few steps forward, and Stark only flew the same distance back, landing again as Rogers stopped.

There was no military presence here. Just old brownstones and the sound of seagulls overhead. Stark took a deep breath and shook his head, hoping to really see Rogers, to get through to him somehow.

“What are you doing here, Rogers? What’s the endgame, marching on the UN?”

“They’re in danger. We need to get them to safety.” Rogers took another step forward.

“What?” Stark blinked, confused. Out of all the answers that could have been given, the idea that Rogers was using an army of Hydra soldiers to get people to safety didn’t make any sense.

Rogers took another step forward, and this time Stark didn’t fly back, letting him get closer.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re not protecting anyone Rogers. You’re the bad guy right now.” Stark said slowly. It was suddenly obvious that this wasn’t really Steve Rogers. He took another deep breath and stepped forward, not looking away from him. “Whatever you think is going on is not actually happening. The danger is you.”

* * *

Rogers lowered his shield, watching Stark carefully. He wondered if this was a trick. Had they told him there would be tricks?

He swallowed roughly and shook his head. In the background, behind Stark, he could see the skyline. There was the Empire State Building, the Chrysler, Stark Tower…

Rogers faltered for a second, and then ran. He pushed by Stark, his entire attention taken by a singular drive to get to the UN. As he ran, the shoreline coming closer, Stark caught his arm, turning him around, one of his hands still raised.

“Steve, you need to listen to me!”

God, he looked just like Howard.

They were in a bunker, listening to bullets, passing a drink back and forth. Laughing about the mosquitos back home. Remembering the heat.

He was dancing with Peggy. She was wearing a red that was almost purple, and he got lost in her eyes. She was kind, unhurt.

Bucky went to war; that was the last time Steve saw him. It was only three years ago.

He was still dancing with Peggy. Her dress was blue.

He was dancing with Howard. He still smelled like whiskey.

He was driving through the forest on his bike when a bomb exploded nearby. The trees fell around him, he looked back, distracted, and when he glanced forward, a trunk met his chest, knocking him off his bike and sending him flying.

Rogers hit the Hudson River with a splash and sunk under, bubbles all the way down.

* * *

When the recognition slipped away from Steve Rogers, Stark didn’t hesitate. He set his stance, shifted low, and he hit him square in his chest, sending Rogers flying down the last bit of pier and into the center of the Hudson River.

For a second, Stark was shocked. He’d seen Rogers take blows and barely give an inch. This was a man unprepared to fight the full strength of the Iron Man suit.

He still had his shield on his arm as he was snapped back into the river, and Stark thought that he could see it glinting below the surface of the water. He dived, and then dived again, trying to find any trace of Rogers in the murky river.

By the time he surfaced it had been ten minutes.

“We got a problem, Fury,” Stark said, hovering over the spot where he last saw Rogers.

“Yeah? You’re lucky I just fixed one problem over here, so my bullshit problems registry has an open slot.”

Stark took a deep breath. His scans indicated life, but it was hard to tell where. He circled the area slowly. “Rogers is down.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem, _Iron Man_ , that sounds like the objective I asked you to complete,” Fury said sternly.

“He fell into the Hudson.”

There was silence at the end of the line. Stark set his jaw.

“I can’t find him.”

* * *

The briefings were as short as Stark could make them. He put his helmet feed up on screen, and everyone watched the fight in Brooklyn twice before Stark turned it off. He was silent and unresponsive as Fury said that he did what had to be done, and Barton clapped his shoulder, and Romanoff said she was sorry. He watched it a third time in an empty room and then left.

A small Hydra branch had been removed and destroyed. It was most likely a splinter cell, but Fury, under Pierce’s urging, decided to do a full investigation.

Stark went back to his tower and tried to rebuild the city.

* * *

When Steve Rogers woke up a second time, it was in a modern room, with a view of a coastline he didn’t recognize. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the sea shimmered like silk on fire.

“Hey, Cap.”

Rogers whipped around, eyes wide. There were enough machines beeping around him that Stark could tell that he was upset, but stable.

“Took a bit of a knock, but you’re alright,” Stark said, standing and turning off the noise, moving slow. Rogers realized it was deliberate, and he didn’t miss the suit parts in the corner of the room. Taking a deep breath, Rogers rested back on the bed. He turned to face the sunset again, watching the sun dip below the waves.

Stark didn’t say anything, letting Rogers rest.

Rogers finally took a deep breath, but didn’t look over at Stark. “What happened?”

Stark realized then, in that second, how fucking young Steve Rogers really was. Nearly a kid. Twenty seven, and all he knew was rations and war. He took a deep breath.

“The way Widow laid it out...you were captured by Hydra in the 40s and they used the Tesseract to do some serious mind meld shit on you. You saw the Tesseract...do something, or whatever, and it came crashing back. Your programming kicked in.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Stark chuckled, standing up. “Yeah, wasn’t a great theory,” he muttered, walking over and sitting down on the bed. Rogers could feel that he was still moving slowly, worried. As he sat, Rogers shifted, sitting up in bed, watching Stark carefully, warily.

Stark smiled a little and nodded, then placed a newspaper on Rogers’ lap. “Don’t worry, kid,” he said, voice low. “They’re not looking for you.”

Rogers looked down at the paper and picked it up. His hands trembled as he read the headline:

STEVE ROGERS MISSING:

PRESUMED DEAD

“Congrats, I think,” Stark muttered, turning on the television in the corner to the news station. “You’re buried in Arlington.”

Rogers couldn’t speak. His eyes were huge as he watched a recap of the funeral procession that wrapped around the cemetery, nearly down to the Potomac. There was a reveille, guns, white roses. His throat was dry as he shook his head, pressing a hand to his mouth and then covering his eyes, hunching over.

Stark looked at him, wondered how such a big man could look so small, and put a hand on Rogers’ shoulder as he shuddered.

The sun had set long before Stark finally stood up to leave. He took a long look at the waters outside, now reflecting the nearly-full moon.

“You don’t have to fight anymore.”

“There’s always fighting, Tony,” Rogers muttered, his hand over the headline. “That’s how the world works.”

“Yeah well...you’re off the radar.” Stark smiled from the doorway. “Consider yourself relieved of duty.”

Rogers held Stark’s gaze for a long time, and then nodded.

“I’m going to stay here a while,” he said, turning back to watch the ocean.

Stark took a deep breath and then a soft step back. “I’d like that.”

Rogers didn’t respond, but Stark couldn’t move out of the doorframe, watching Rogers. He swallowed, took another half step back, rocked on his heels.

Rogers spoke again, “Good night.”

Stark set his jaw and turned away, walking further into his home until he got back to the workshop. He sat down heavily at his desk and put his head in his hands. He stayed there for a long time, but finally took a deep breath. He turned back to his desk and looked over the plans there. There was still work to do.


End file.
